Invincible
by brittanasunderboobs
Summary: It's hard being a superhero. It's even harder when you're in love with the villain. PERMANENTLY SHELVED
1. Prologue

Ten minutes ago, she would have said she'd seen it all; killer robots, plague of locusts, a strangely maniacal toaster, you know, the regular gamut of weird ass things a superhero faces daily. But no, just when she thought she could say, _that's it, there is nothing that can surprise me now_ (especially after the case of the Mysterious Hillbilly), Fate decides to change it up and throw her a goddamn curveball. And hell, if _this _isn't the sickest looking curveball she's ever seen. Of course she's had her share of questionable encounters before, she has had this gig for over a century and a half. That much time fighting off super-villains, a couple zombie apocalypses and the odd alien invasion has certainly provided her a pretty spectacular resume, as well as a unique view of astonishingly revolting crimes that would cause most other superheroes to gauge out their own eyes. But _this_, this takes the fucking cake (probably the whole damn bakery too). Her team is nowhere in sight, having abandoned her for a night of karaoke and she's sure a fair amount of general debauchery. It's probably for the best though; Vogue would probably comment on the completely blasphemous use of a sewing machine, Jingle would talk her ear off regarding the poor choice in ambiance music, while Crusher, Saint and Wheels projectile vomited over the crime scene. Frankly, she's better off without them on this one.

While she's never before been particularly thankful for her ability to fly (heights are worse than zombies), she is now. Floating above the floor allows her to not only keep the scene intact for Wheels to investigate later but, more importantly, to keep blood off her shoes and costume (it takes a special kind of dry-cleaner to wash blood stains off a spandex onesie). The bloodshed below her is absolute; hundreds of bodies piled knee deep lie in a deep pool of blood. They have been arranged so as to create a pathway of carnage leading up to a large shrine. In the center stands a grotesque statue of flesh, a collection of body parts and skin sewn together. From far, it creates the illusion of a twelve-foot tall man, up close it is the defilement of the human body. From a speaker she has yet to locate, The Beatle's _Eleanor Rigby_ plays softly, almost too low for a human to hear. She is _anything_ but human. On the far wall behind the shrine is written a message in what she's sure is blood. It reads:

_He who dies in sin shall be reborn and from the ashes of sin shall rise a savior. _

She's never been particularly good with words (as evidenced by her poor SAT scores and penchant for reading 'In Dog We Trust' on bills), but nevertheless these words send a chill down her spine. It's the fourth time she's seen them in less than two weeks and, frankly, the fourth too many. The always come surrounded by bloodshed. Even the most hardened of criminals would say "_now that's fucked up!_" The stench of the slaughter is so potent and vile that she would rather spend a fortnight living at the bottom of Jacob Ben Israel's laundry basket than spend another second hovering over the massacre.

Unable to stomach the scene any longer, she flies away, leaving the horror behind, far from forgotten. She dials Jingle's number on her way to the lair, almost crushing the phone in her hand when she receives her voicemail. "Hello, you have reached Jingle, superhero extraordinaire. If you need me for a heroic rescue, press one. If you'd like to buy a Jingle action figure or a copy of my New York Times bestseller _Jingle Hells_, press two. Finally, if you wish to leave me compliments, please direct your admiration to my manager at tchang . Thank you and I look forward to reading your praise. Beep!"

Having run over 2200 miles in little over a second, she arrived at the secret hideout. On the outside, it was a plain little comic book store called _Will's Comic Emporium_. While overrun with geeks and pimply virgins, none knew the location of the 100,000 square foot hideaway 500 feet below their socks and sandals.

Entering the main room, she slumped onto the couch and turned on the TV (evidently the reporters had found out about the massacre at St. James church).

"In news today…the brutal slaying of…Deputy Finn Hudson tells reporters…grizzly scene…death toll estimated at four hundred…police nicknaming killer The Butcher…"

It was days like today that made being a superhero feel like the worst job in the world…

* * *

**A/N - This is just the prologue. I have the next chapter written and it is much longer. Hope you all enjoy!**


	2. The Order of Angels

**Chapter 1 - The Order of Angels**

Friday nights are the busiest for Brittany and The Order of Angels. The busiest, but certainly not the most entertaining. She spends the majority of the night breaking up bar fights (a fair amount of those caused by drunks insulting Crusher's mohawk) and listening to Jingle rant about the bastardization of the music industry. She really does hate Fridays. Although tonight has provided very little in terms of actual danger, Brittany feels uneasy. She has yet to catch the madman behind the St. James slaying and worse, Lord Tubbington seems to have started an underground prostitution ring. All in all, she's not having the best week.

She's in the middle of pulling Crusher off an old woman who called him a "delinquent little douche" after he tripped over her Chihuahua, when she receives a particularly hard blow to the nose. Before turning to face her assailant, she can't help but wonder what kind of asshole punches a girl with wings. Spinning on the balls of her feet, she squares off before her unknown attacker, only to find a drunken man holding a very broken fist (that's what you get for punching an angel in the face).

"Son of a bitch, you broke my hand! What kind of demon are you?" the man screams at her as he limps away.

He's obviously not the brightest crayon in the box, because Brittany has yet to meet a demon with a sixteen-foot wingspan made entirely of gold colored feathers, so she lets him go. He'll probably regret punching her after spending a couple of hours in the emergency room. Meanwhile, Crusher is receiving a furious beating from the woman's walker (she supposes it's because as badass as Crusher pretends to be, he'd never hit an old lady…probably). By now, Saint and Vogue are spurring the woman on, yelling encouragement from the sidelines.

"Yeah, get him!"

"Hit him over the head with it!"

"Ow! That's gotta hurt!"

Jingle stands beside them, her arms crossed over her chest. She is obviously less impressed with the spectacle, but makes no move to intervene. Brittany lets the woman get in a few more hits before catching the walker mid strike and un-pasting Crusher from the sidewalk. She sends the woman on her way with a promise that yes, she will let Crusher's parents know what a hooligan they've raised.

It takes a poorly executed bank heist by thieves in George Bush masks and an escaped circus elephant before they finally make it back to Angel Cove. She then listens to a half hour tirade from Jingle about the barbarism of circuses (and something about horse-drawn carriages in New York) before she decides that yes, Fridays really are the worst.

…..

500 feet below _Will's Comic Emporium_ lies Angel Cove, a sprawling two-acre complex. It is also the living quarters of all six members of The Order of Angels. Brittany often thinks that she must be certifiably insane to have ever let that happen.

She now sits at the dining room table wondering whether or not it safe to take a bite of the questionable vegan meal in front of her. She looks around and finds everyone but Rachel, who has by now changed out of her Jingle costume, staring meekly at the food as well. She figures it's probably unlikely that Rachel would purposely poison her, so she tentatively takes a bite (and, by God, if that's not the most disgusting thing she's ever tasted).

"Man that old bat was a loon, I mean who hits a rippling stud like me? I mean…okay seriously, what the fuck is this crap?" Crusher says while eyeing a strange grey piece of something on his fork (trust Puck to say exactly what everyone is thinking).

"I think it's brain. I mean look at it! If that's not brain you can change my name to Wears Gap Rejects Under American Apparel Hoodies." Kurt says, pushing the plate away with obvious disgust.

"It's vegan pasta in a mushroom sauce!" Rachel pouts, distraught over the failure of her meal.

"Well it _tastes_ like brains…" Quinn says casually.

"This is gourmet cooking! I got the recipe off of Barefoot Contessa, so I'm sorry if you're all too common to enjoy a deliciously prepared fine dining experience" Rachel all but yells, shoving pasta into her mouth on principle.

"I dunno Rachel, last week you did serve us that really weird cheese." Brittany says, hesitantly placing another piece of pasta in her mouth.

"That was tofu, Brittany," Rachel says around a scowl.

"Well it tasted like ten year old gorgonzola," Puck laughs.

"That someone left out in the sun" Kurt adds.

With a huff Rachel storms out in true diva fashion (it was bound to happen sooner or later).

"Rachel, you forgot your brains!" Quinn yells after her, delighted in having played a part in upsetting Rachel.

The rest of the meal is spent debating the pros and cons of the latest Call of Duty (Puck), whether or not Armani is passé (Kurt), if strangers can see her c-section scar in her Saint costume (Quinn) and vomiting up Rachel's pasta (Puck, again). Quinn even has to use her powers of possession to make Puck clean it up (she makes him wear a flowery apron and call her 'Princess", which Brittany is sure is a gross abuse of power). She finally escapes to the seclusion of her bedroom (after watching Puck threaten Quinn to delete the video on her cellphone of him doing ballet) and slumps onto her bed. She waits for Artie to call while safely tucking her wings back into her skin. It's been a little over a week since Artie has been in L.A. investigating the St. James massacre. Yesterday morning he had called her to let her know he was following a lead and that he would let her in on it when he found out more. She really hopes tonight is the night.

…..

It's around 6am, an hour after having gone to bed, when her phone rings. She knows it's Artie because only Order members have her number (it's a lonely life being a superhero). She rolls out of bed and picks up the phone, anxious to find out Artie's news.

"Hey Britt," comes Artie's voice. He sounds tired, which frankly Brittany can relate to.

"Hey Wheels, how's L.A.?" she asks around a yawn.

"Hot," he answers. He's obviously keen on getting to business, because she would usually have to listen to an hour or so of Artie ranting about the evils of big cities.

"So here's what we've got. I took samples from the crime scene to run them against our database. At first I was getting nothing. Finally, yesterday, I got a match. The DNA I found on the scene is a 60% match for Mimic. I know what you're thinking; Santana is in a maximum-security prison in Lima. So I called The Watchers and, get this, she's still there. She's in confinement after throwing frying oil at the lunch lady for putting gravy on her potatoes."

"Could it be any of the other Dark Ladies?" Brittany asks, obviously as stumped as Artie.

"I checked that out too. Neither of their DNA was found at the scene. Last I heard Mercedes was back in New Orleans and Sugar went back to the future after Santana got booked. I have no clue how this is all possible, but the evidence is irrefutable. You can't trick science," Artie says proudly.

"So you keep telling me," Brittany laughs. Science is certainly not her strong suit (she thinks her very existence upsets the intricate balance of it).

"You know what that means, right Britt? You're going to have to pay Santana a visit…"

Damn.

…..

The sky is a sickly grey overhead as she makes her way over to the prison. The dark thunderclouds threaten to open up and drench her (it's the very example of pathetic fallacy). She thinks back to the last time she saw Santana. It was a dark day, just like today.

_The bar was empty save her and Santana. The bartender eyed them suspiciously, wondering what two young girls were doing there at 9:00am (Brittany's wings certainly didn't help the situation). Santana sat in front of her on the opposite side of the booth, her dark hair plastered onto her head from the rain. She still wore her cheerleading uniform, the red material dripping onto the black leather of the seat. She refused to make eye contact and that, that's when Brittany realized she had lost her._

Six years later and Brittany can still see the hurt and pain in Santana's eyes. She's seen some genuinely horrible sights in her long time on earth but, the vision of her best friend giving up on everything, is by far the most heart wrenching and truly devastating thing she's ever seen. She knows she's lost herself a little since then too. It was Santana's friendship that got her through the day; that allowed her to deal with all of the exceptionally messed up things in her life (she supposes that's what 120 years of friendship will do) . It's true that she has The Order now, but no matter how much she tries to convince herself that it's enough, she knows deep down that she will never be whole again. She's broken, and Santana's holding all the damn pieces. She wishes more than anything that she hadn't let Santana throw her life away. If Brittany had tried harder to save her, maybe she wouldn't be on her way to meet her in prison. Maybe she wouldn't feel like taking to the skies, demanding entrance back into heaven, just to escape the guilt and anguish. Maybe she wouldn't feel like giving up too.

The Watcher's prison is located far beneath city hall. It is a large spiraling complex that houses the most dangerous of super-powered individuals. It's labyrinth like structure prevents any risk of escape (as well as the neural implant embedded in the criminals consciousnesses). Brittany makes her way to Mike's office; dread all but crushing her insides. She stops in front of his door, the large plaque in the center of it reads:

Agent Michael Chang

1st Deputy Commissioner of The Watchers

_Ab aerteno _

She waits on the wooden bench outside, the bright white walls and floors creating an ethereal ambiance. While most would call the building an architectural haven, Brittany can see its true nature. Her superhuman sight allows her to see the tiny paint chips on the wall and the myriad of shoe imprints on the floor. She can hear the screams of the prisoners as if they sit beside her. She wishes she could scream now too.

After what feels like an eternity (Brittany is much too familiar with the concept of eternity), Mike opens his door and beckons her inside without a single word. His office is small and quaint and painted a rich burgundy. She's glad to be out of the white hallway (she feels much too depressed for white today). Mike sits behind an intricately carved wood desk, countless books and papers scattered messily over its surface. He gestures to the seat in front of him, wordlessly ordering Brittany to sit.

"I wish to God you were here under better circumstances, Brittany," Mike says (she doesn't have the heart to tell him that God isn't with them here).

His face has aged beyond his natural age (which Brittany assumes is caused by the stress of running a prison filled with lunatic, super-powered beings).

"So, I hear you're here to see Santana Lopez. As you probably know from having spoken with Artie, she's currently in confinement. We have very strict rules about no visitors during stays in confinement but, after having spoken to Ms. Cohen-Chang, she has granted you permission to speak with the prisoner. Sam will escort you to her. I remind you that you may not speak with Mr. Evans, as he is still in his Third Year of Silence. I wish we could stay and chat, but we're dealing with a bit of internal problems at the moment," Mike continues, pressing a small red button on his desk to beckon Sam.

"Thank you Mike, I really appreciate this," Brittany says, standing to leave.

Mike merely nods. As she reaches the door, she feels Mike's hand on her wrist.

"Brittany, it's nice to see The White Angel again," he says around a gentle smile.

…..

Brittany spends the half hour it takes to get to the center of the prison trying to make Sam talk, she even tries tickling him when his back is turned (a trick she learned from Tina during her own three years of silence). She knows it's not the easiest three years, so she's glad when she manages to make Sam smile a few times. Joking with Sam lightens the dreary mood the building puts her in. The halls are ornately decorated with snarling gargoyles (she's convinced herself that she saw one blink) and large twisting marble snakes. On every wall are scrawled beautifully scripted words: _ad maiorem Dei gloriam_. She's never been great with Latin, but she's pretty sure it has something to do with God. The Watchers have a big ole' boner for God. She thinks if any of The Watchers had truly met God, like she has, they may have gone with something else. Had she been allowed to choose the words, she would have picked: "I asked God for a bike, but I know God doesn't work that way. So I stole a bike and asked for forgiveness". Epic.

Sam leads her to the interrogation room. He gives her a quick (and probably forbidden) hug and waves goodbye. She's nervous. Like the kind of nervous where your armpits start to sweat and you spend the next hour in a state of paranoia trying to remember if you put on deodorant. She _really _doesn't want to see Santana after six years smelling like she ran here from Australia.

It takes another half hour before the large metal door opposite her creaks open. Santana walks through, her hands and feet in chains and, damnit, if that doesn't break Brittany's heart in two. Her hair is in a messy bun on the top of her head, her skin sallow and pale. She wears a bright orange jumper with the number 1216 emblazoned over her left breast. She sits in front of Brittany, the group of guards attaching her to large metal chains on the floor. Brittany wants to yell at them, to make them free her from her shackles, tell them that this isn't how you treat a human being (but she remembers that Santana isn't a human being at all). She doesn't know the rules that apply to a 153-year-old super-villain who still looks 18. So she doesn't say anything (she yells at them on the inside though). When the guards leave the room, Santana looks her in the eye for the first time. Her eyes are angry and cruel (the only real sign that Santana isn't completely dead inside). Brittany has no idea what to say. What do you say to someone you no longer know after over a century of friendship? Probably "hi", so she goes with that.

"Hi San," she says timidly. If The Order were to see her now they would kick her out on her ass. What kind of leader cowers in front of a person chained to the ground?

"It's Mimic," Santana says. Her voice is hollow and lifeless. Brittany doesn't say that she will always be San to her.

They sit in silence for a couple of incredibly uncomfortable minutes before Santana's face changes. Her eyes soften and she smirks. Brittany thought she had seen all of Santana's smiles, but this one is new. It's unkind and hard. She hates it.

"Well, if it isn't The White Angel come to visit her old pal," Santana sneers, her words like venom.

"San," Brittany starts.

"It's Mimic, I won't warn you again," Santana says harshly, her tone biting.

Brittany knows it's an empty threat (she humors her though).

"Mimic," the word feels cold on her tongue, "I have a few questions to ask you," she says.

Santana smirk widens.

"You know, I usually refrain from talking to heroes, leaves a bad taste in my mouth, you see." Santana pauses, looking over Brittany as if considering her offer. "I suppose I better make an exception for the great White Angel though. Wouldn't want to insult the leader of the free world, now would I?"

"You know it's not like that," Brittany says. Brittany borrows Santana's technique from six years ago; she refuses to look her in the eye. She's too afraid with what she'll find.

"No it's not, is it? What would the world think if they knew the truth about you? What would your _friends _think?"

Brittany knows that she shouldn't, but she smiles sadly. She can't help it, Santana is just trying so hard to not be the girl Brittany remembers. She chances a glance at Santana and finds her smiling too. The smile she loves. The smile she would die for. It disappears before she can memorize it again. It feels like a small victory.

"Mimic, where were you a week and a half ago?" Brittany asks. She knows it's a stupid question, but she can't think of anything else at the moment.

"Throwing scalding oil onto that fat old lunch lady's face. You know how much I hate gravy," she says. Brittany thinks she sees guilt in Santana's eyes. "Why? Need humble little me to help solve a case?" she laughs.

"No. What I want to know is why Artie found your DNA at the scene of a murder a week ago?" Santana just laughs again, but this time Brittany is sure she sees something behind her eyes (she's always had very expressive eyes).

"Well, that is a riddle," Santana says.

Brittany knows she's not going to get anything out of her. Santana's broken too. She stands from her seat and walks for the door. She doesn't want to say goodbye to this stranger, but she does anyways.

"Bye, San."

She thinks she imagines the _bye Britt_.


	3. The Deal

**Chapter 2 - The Deal**

She's distracted. It's definitely not the most opportune moment to be lost in her thoughts either (she _is _surrounded by an angry coven of vampires, after all). There's a good forty of them attacking her and it's probably a good thing that she could kill them all in her sleep. Vogue is with her today and, honestly, is doing infinitely more work. He's staked a good twenty or so of them with the bedazzled stake Rachel gave him for Christmas. She's frankly surprised it even works (she owes Rachel 20$). She has yet to stake her first vampire and they're actually starting to get the upper hand on her. She's been bitten twice (she's thankfully immune to their poison) and she's carelessly allowed another few to land a couple of hits. She can't help but laugh at their wardrobe though, which consists of studded leather jackets and ripped jeans. Most of them have strangely colored hair and multiple piercings as well. Brittany misses vampires from back in the day, all capes and weird accents. She blames Buffy.

Before she realizes what happened, she's been backed into a corner. She wants to laugh because, seriously? This must be the stupidest pack she's ever encountered; she found them after following a red-haired vampire home after he attacked a cashier at an In-N-Out Burger over a lumpy milkshake. Honestly, being a vampire used to mean something. Now she finds them bursting into flames trying to sun-bathe, choking on chunks of garlic at The Cheesecake Factory and getting tattoos of crosses on their backs (it's fools like this that make Brittany question the accuracy of evolution). It takes a vampire in Crocs kicking her in the face to pull her out of her daze and set her in motion. She's somehow lost her stake in the commotion and, since she's not too keen on be-heading, she snaps the antlers off a deer head tacked to the wall behind her (she's sure Rachel would say something about it if she were here). After that it's pretty easy, she finishes them off in a little less than 10 seconds. Kurt is huffing and puffing in the corner, trying desperately to rearrange the padlocks on his shirt (he may have gone a little overboard on this particular outfit).

"I swear to God, if I see another white-washed denim vest…" Kurt says.

Brittany laughs before assessing the scene. The floor is covered with blood and bodies (no, vampires don't turn to dust; thanks again Buffy!). It's going to take one hell of a fire to destroy them and she's frankly too tired to start gathering kindling.

"Kurt, you should head out, I'm about to get really badass on this place," Brittany says, pointing to an exit in the back. After she's sure Kurt is a safe distance from the area, she closes her eyes and allows the light within her to grow. It's been a long time since she's allowed herself to combust. There's a sizable risk whenever she does this (she definitely learned that the hard way). It takes an immense amount of concentration to prevent herself from letting off too much light-energy. If she were to lose control for even a millisecond, it could mean the end of the world (how's that for work-related-stress?). She supposes now is not the best time to be undertaking such a task, all things considered, but what the hell, it's only the end of the world, right?

…..

She gets back to Angel Cove a little after noon. A recently arrived Artie has already prepared lunch while she and the others were out on rounds. His cooking is nothing special, but it sure as hell beats Rachel's pasta (so there's that to be thankful for). Brittany is absolutely exhausted, but that's probably to be expected after you explode like a hot pocket in the microwave for too long. She walks into the kitchen to get a plate, where she finds Quinn hovering a banana in the palm of her hand.

"You know some people say not to play with your food," Brittany laughs. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Just making this banana my bitch," the other blonde says. (Brittany knows exactly what Santana would say if she were here).

Brittany grabs a plate from the cupboard and leaves Quinn with her fruit. It's been much too long of a day for conversation, so she takes her food to her room. She sits down at her desk and fires up her computer (which she has only recently learned how to use). As she waits for it to load, she listens to Rachel sing _No More Tears _on her new karaoke machine (if she knows Quinn like she thinks she does, the thing will be broken come morning). After twenty minutes trying to find Safari, she finally manages to get onto the computer and into her hotmail account. She has well over 3000 e-mails, so she gets to work.

She's about an hour in (and 1500 e-mails later) when she opens up a message from an unknown sender. Inside it, she finds a link labeled "watch this". She's pretty sure it's a virus but clicks on it anyway (it's been awhile since Artie's yelled at her). At first she's not entirely sure what she's supposed to be seeing. If she were playing Pictionary she'd probably guess a clown in a sombrero or a fish on a unicycle. Finally the image on screen seems to focus, revealing an empty room. She can hear something being dragged outside the frame. She's not sure if what she's watching is pre-recorded or live. Suddenly a masked figure appears on screen dragging a girl by her hair behind them. They sit her in the middle of the room, her hands are tied behind her back and her mouth is duct taped shut. Brittany doesn't recognize her at first and then, with horror, she realizes it's Sugar, one of The Dark Ladies and Santana's partner in crime. Her eyes are almost swollen shut and she has large gashes on her arms and legs. Brittany can't tell if the masked figure is a man or woman since they're wearing a plastic white coverall splattered with blood. They disappear for a moment, returning shortly after with a large foot long knife. The blade is twisted like a snake and rusted with dried blood. Brittany can't move. Her heart is pounding through her chest and she can feel thick beads of sweat dripping down the back of her neck. She searches the room for any indication as to where it's being filmed, but finds nothing. She watches with horror as the masked assailant lifts Sugar up off the floor with super-human strength. Without a word they put the knife to her neck. Brittany thinks she's sees a tattoo on the figures left wrist but before she knows what happened, Sugar is lying dead on the floor, her head completely severed from her body. The masked person walks slowly forward and speaks to the camera. Their voice is mechanical and sounds like they're speaking through a voice modifier.

"Know this Brittany Pierce, this girl's death is on your hands. It is because of _your_ sins that she lies here now. She will not be the last to die because of your crimes against God. _Deus tecum_."

With that the screen turns black. Brittany's acting on impulse alone now. She picks up the phone and dials The Watchers. Time seems to be traveling in slow motion as she waits for someone to answer.

"Hello?" comes Tina's voice at last.

"Tina, please tell me that Santana's still there," Brittany says. She's panicked and scared and she needs to know that Santana isn't behind this. She needs to know that she's innocent.

"Of course she's still here. Brittany, what is this about?" Tina asks.

"You're absolutely sure? There's no chance that she could have gotten out?" Brittany all but pleads.

"Brittany, I'm looking at the security feed right now. Santana is safe and sound in confinement. What's happening?" Tina sounds confused and frankly, Brittany doesn't blame her. Now is not the time to explain things though, so she hangs up and runs to find Artie.

…..

"So I'm tracking the I.P address as we speak. It's going to take a couple of days though, because this person definitely knew what they were doing. Thankfully there's not a soul on earth who can best me when it comes to technology," Artie says. "A couple of things I have managed to find out is that one, this was a live recording and two, you were right about the tattoo. I've paused the video and enlarged it and it's clear that whoever this was has a tattoo on their left wrist. I don't have any clue as to what the symbol stands for though."

Unfortunately, Brittany does.

She leaves Artie and walks solemnly to her bedroom. She's still in a state of shock, and the revelation she's just had has rocked her to her core. Once inside her room, she locks the door and makes her way to her safe; it's hidden behind a large portrait of The Order of Angels. From it she takes out a manila folder labeled "The Watchers". Underneath the black print, she finds the symbol.

…..

She's gathered the rest of The Order for a team meeting. She's not exactly sure how to break the news to them and frankly, she's not even sure who she can trust anymore. While she's the only member of The Watchers, she knows how powerful they are and she hopes that they haven't managed to get their hands on one of her team. She'll have to have faith in her judgment for now.

"What's this all about Brittany? I was in the middle of teaching Quinn how to properly iron my costume," Rachel says. Quinn looks absolutely miserable and about ready to smother Rachel in her sleep with a pair of her perfectly ironed socks.

"This morning, I was sent a really nasty video," Brittany starts.

"Oh God, it's not the one that Puck sent me of the girl and the donkey is it?" Quinn asks. Puck goes to high-five Kurt, only to be met with a disgusted glare.

"No, it's not that one…"

"Oh no, is it the PETA one where all those poor innocent foxes are being skinned? They still had eyelashes at the end of it!" Rachel asks in shock.

"No, I bet she found gay porn on Kurt's computer. I swear, I'm terrified to click on any of his bookmarks anymore," Puck says. Kurt is three shades of red and is actually starting to turn invisible.

"Kurt! No powers at the table!" Rachel scolds.

This meeting is certainly not going how Brittany had hoped.

It's only after Quinn has lunged at Rachel twice and Puck has created a definitive list of the best porn sites that Brittany snaps. Her wings snap out of her back and her skin turns a blinding shade of white.

"Shut up, all of you!" she yells (her voice is almost as loud as one of Rachel's sonic screams).

She's got the group shamed into silence. She takes a few deep breaths to calm herself down. Her wings are refusing to fold back in and she's still glowing, but she's managed to relax enough to speak.

"This morning when I was checking my e-mails, I was sent a link from an unknown sender. After clicking it…"

"Brittany you should never open things…"Rachel starts

Brittany slams her fist onto the dining room table, splitting it in half.

"**I'm **talking now!" Brittany says with as much patience as she can muster.

She eyes Rachel, daring her to speak (she thankfully remains silent).

"It linked me to a live feed of a video. I don't want to get into too much detail but Sweet Danger, one of The Dark Ladies, was killed in it. Got anymore smartass remarks now, guys?"

The group is silent save a tiny squeak of shock from Rachel.

"While I was watching, I noticed that the killer had a small tattoo on their left wrist. It was a symbol; a symbol that belongs to the upper echelon of The Watchers," Brittany says, pausing for effect. "All high priests and priestesses have this tattooed on their skin."

"How do you know all of this?" Kurt asks timidly.

"Because Santana has the same exact tattoo," Brittany says. "Before she turned, she was not only _a_ high priestess but _the _high priestess."

"I knew it was her!" Quinn says angrily.

"I wish it were that simple, Quinn. Santana's tattoo was located on the back of her right shoulder. She also had it burned off when she left The Watchers. If there's one thing I know for sure, it's that Santana wasn't involved in this." Brittany doesn't mention how relieved she is. She doesn't mention that despite the horrible situation, she actually feels thankful. She doesn't mention that she herself burned the tattoo off of Santana's skin.

"So what do we do now Britt?" Kurt asks. He seems scared (and Brittany doesn't blame him).

"Artie is tracking the I.P. address, so in a couple of days, we'll know for sure where the video came from," Brittany says. She doesn't tell them the other part of her plan just yet. As she walks back to her bedroom, she hears Rachel saying: "Jeez, this was a nice table".

…..

She's sitting in the interrogation room of The Watcher's prison for the second time in three days. She's been sitting here for a little over an hour, waiting for the guards to bring Santana. As she sits, she thinks back to six years ago.

"_Santana, I don't wanna do this," Brittany says to the dark haired girl sitting with her back to her._

"_Britt you have to. As long as I have this stupid tattoo, The Watchers will always be able to track me," Santana says._

_Brittany doesn't know why Santana all of a sudden wants to be free of The Watchers. She's only just been made head high priestess, something's she's wanted her entire life._

"_It's gonna hurt San. I don't want to hurt you," Brittant pleads._

_She's got her hand on Santana's shoulder, covering the small tattoo. _

"_Please Brittany. I need this," Santana begs._

_Brittany's never been good at saying no to Santana. She closes her eyes and allows her hand to release energy. She feels Santana flinching in pain; she can hear the tears dropping to the floor. When she removes her hand finally, the tattoo is gone, replaced with a glowing white handprint. Santana looks back and smiles, her eyes red from crying. Brittany doesn't think it's from the pain._

"_I like this better," Santana says._

_She leans back and…_

Brittany is pulled from her reminiscing by the door opening. Santana is brought in by four muscular guards (Brittany can't help but think it a little overkill). After they've chained her to the ground they leave. Santana's right eye is swollen and dark. Brittany wants to reach out and comfort her (she doesn't). Santana looks different from the last time she saw her. Behind the bruises, Santana's eyes are scared. Her lips are severely chapped and there's blood caked behind her ears. Brittany can tell that someone has attempted to make her look presentable, but she's always been extremely attentive when it comes to Santana.

From her pocket she removes the small device Artie gave her after their meeting. She presses the red button and says:

"Let's make a deal".

…..

When she gets back to Angel Cove she asks Kurt to prepare dinner. They eat in relative silence, save the odd remark from Puck commenting on the unbearable awkwardness (which only really makes everything more awkward). Rachel keeps glaring at Brittany, evidently still upset about the table. Brittany doesn't feel sorry but she apologizes anyway. She wants everyone in the best mood possible by this evening.

Rachel seems to accept her apology and invites Brittany to sing on her new karaoke machine (Quinn doesn't tell them that she's already broken it). She politely declines and heads to the training arena. She spends the next hour racing around the track, smashing boulders into tiny pieces and doing gymnastics on a half an inch thick beam two hundred feet above the floor. She's in the middle of a back handspring when she hears the doorbell. She leaps to the floor and runs at top speed to the get the door. It's obviously not fast enough because Kurt stands at the open door when she gets there. On the other side of the door is a smirking Santana. She's got bags and bags of luggage and Brittany's not entirely sure what to say.

"Well, this is uncomfortable," Santana says for her.

* * *

**A/N - Thanks for reading! **


	4. A Stressful Beginning

**Chapter 3 - A Stressful Beginning**

You could cut the tension in the room with a knife (a really blunt, rusted, butter knife). They've been sitting in the living room for half an hour and no one has yet to make a single comment. Quinn and Rachel glare, Kurt and Artie look confused and Puck smiles dumbly (Brittany is pretty sure he has absolutely no clue what is going on). Santana's got her feet on the glass table in front of her and Rachel looks like she's about to implode from restraining herself from scolding her (it doesn't help that Santana's boots are caked with mud and what Rachel is sure is dog crap). Santana reaches into one of her bags and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. Before she's able to light one, Rachel snaps.

"Santana, there is absolutely no smoking in this house. Second-hand smoke is among the leading causes of death in the United States," Rachel says.

(Santana lights the cigarette anyway).

"They say the same thing about second-hand embarrassment, but I've been around Kurt and his strangely feminine sweater for the better part of an hour and I haven't kicked the bucket yet," Santana says, purposely blowing the smoke in Rachel's direction.

"One can only hope," Quinn whispers.

"Sorry, what was that Quinn? I couldn't hear you over the sound of the couch creaking under your weight," Santana says with a sneer.

Brittany would be lying if she said she imagined this going better. She knew from the moment her and Santana made the deal that it was probably an incredibly bad idea (an entertaining one, sure, but an exceedingly bad one).

"I have an idea," Rachel says. Santana glowers at her so fiercely that Brittany thinks Rachel might suddenly internally combust from the look alone (thankfully that isn't one of Santana's powers). "From my extensive knowledge of psychology, I've discovered that role-playing can often help alleviate certain situations." Santana smirks and Brittany is sure she's saying "wanky" in her head.

"I'm down with that," Santana starts. Rachel looks shocked for a moment and then smiles, obviously quite happy her plan is being so well received. "I'll be beauty and you can be the hideously disfigured beast," she finishes. Rachel's smile falls immediately (Brittany thinks that's what Rachel gets for trusting Santana).

"You're impossible," Rachel says.

"Hey, you wanted to play a game! Don't get mad at me because it hits too close to home," Santana laughs (Brittany almost laughs too, but figures it best to avoid another Rachel Berry storm-off extraordinaire).  
Puck is still smiling like a pig in shit and Brittany is pretty sure Quinn is seconds away from lunging at Santana (they never did get along).

"You know, I've gotta say Santana, you've got some of the nicest bikini stuffers I've ever seen. And that's saying something, I'm a boob connoisseur," Puck says, leering at Santana's scantily clad chest.

Brittany goes to hold Santana back from pouncing and finds herself confused when Santana merely looks down at her chest and smirks.

"Why thank you Puck. At first I thought you had the intelligence of a constipated baby, but I'm happy to find out you're the only sensible one in the room," she says, pleased with the compliment (six years ago, Brittany would have been picking Puck's teeth off the floor).

"Santana, since Kurt, Puck and Artie are meeting you for the first time, I think it would be pertinent for you to share with us your various powers. How you've managed to keep them a secret from us over the past couple of years is still a mystery. Following your demonstration, we will exhibit our own," Rachel says.

Brittany is surprised once again when Santana stands up and moves to the center of the room, she had expected a little resistance (or at least a well-timed insult).

"Brace yourself, I'm about to rock your world," Santana says. She's smiling again, the smile Brittany loves.

For a moment nothing happens. Quinn's about to make a sarcastic comment (probably something about Santana's definition of world-rocking and how she feels bad for all of her previous lovers) when Santana's body starts to shake. There's a faint humming in the air and suddenly Santana's no longer standing in the middle of the room. In her place stands an identical replica of Quinn.

"Hi, my name is Quinn and I'm a hypocritical bible thumper who will probably die alone being eaten by my hundreds of cats," Santana (well Quinn, sort of) says. "And now, for the piece de resistance," she adds, walking up to the real Quinn. She places her hand on Quinn's shoulder for a couple of seconds and returns to the center of the room.

"Rachel, tell me I'm the most amazing, most beautiful person you've ever met and that your life was incomplete before you met me," Santana says.

"You're the most amazing, most beautiful person I've ever met. My life was incomplete before I met you," Rachel says in a trance.

Everyone (save Brittany and a drooling Rachel) is in complete shock.

"You stole my powers!" Quinn says in surprise. She tries to possess Santana to give them back, but finds that she is unable to access the ability.

"Don't worry, it's only for forever," Santana/Quinn laughs maniacally (she sounds like a classic comic book villain, something along the lines of Muahahahah!).

Quinn looks like she's about to vomit something fierce, so Brittany decides to save her from having to steam-clean the carpet later.

"She's joking Quinn. It will wear off as soon as she shifts back to her own form," Brittany says, putting a hand on Quinn's shoulder to comfort her. Quinn shies away from Brittany's touch, evidently still in disbelief at having her powers stolen.

It takes another twenty minutes for Brittany to convince Santana to shift back (in which time Santana flashes the group, possesses Quinn to bow to her and makes Puck shave off half his mohawk). Quinn storms off once she is given back her powers (evidently more concerned with everyone having seen her boobs than at having been possessed by her own powers). Santana's got a proud grin on her face and Puck's desperately trying to glue his hair back on with an old glue stick. Overall, Brittany thinks this could have gone worse.

…..

"I'm starving! Is there anything in this house that isn't organic or vegan?" Santana says while riffling through the fridge.

"Rachel's in charge of groceries," Brittany says casually. "Did you wanna eat out tonight?"

"Wanky," Santana laughs.

Brittany misses moments like this more than anything (the little moments that remind her why she loves Santana so much). Santana takes out a bowl of strawberries clearly labeled "Rachel's property" and starts to eat them.

"You're going to regret eating those when Rachel lectures you for half an hour," Brittany tells Santana.

Santana shrugs and shoves more strawberries in her mouth (Brittany is pretty sure she's going to eat all of them then show Rachel the empty bowl).

"Speak of the annoying devil," Santana says as Rachel walks into the kitchen. Brittany quickly grabs the half-eaten bowl of strawberries and puts it back in the fridge before Rachel notices (it helps that she can move faster than the speed of light).

"So I've just spent the last hour consoling Quinn and…Santana were you just eating my strawberries?" Rachel asks.

Brittany isn't sure how she could have possibly known until she looks at Santana, who has strawberries all over her mouth.

"I wouldn't touch your nasty berries, berry!" Santana says, wiping her mouth.

"Then why is your face all red?" Rachel says, pointing to the red smears on Santana's chin.

"Um, because I'm shy?"

Rachel storms off, muttering something about Santana being inconsiderate and selfish.

"I wonder how many times I can make her do that?" Santana snickers.

"It's really not that hard," Brittany laughs.

They sit in comfortable silence for a while (Brittany tries to memorize Santana's face again). Every time Santana catches her looking Brittany smiles and looks away (she's never been shy around Santana before, but six years apart can do funny things). Brittany knows that the whole situation is a little messed up (especially considering there's a psychotic serial killer somewhere out there with a vendetta against her) but she doesn't think she's been this happy in years. Sure, she was happy when Artie got her the One Tree Hill box set for Christmas last year or when she ran into Quinn and Rachel at a bookstore five years ago, but this, this is heaven (and Brittany knows all about heaven). It's true Santana has changed, but Brittany can still see signs of the old one in the smallest of things; the way her nose crinkles when she laughs, the way she still blushes when she catches Brittany looking at her and how her body is still the same, all boyish hips and amazing breasts (Brittany thinks that might be her favorite thing).

"Well, it's getting late, I better get to bed. Got a long day of annoying the shit out of Rachel tomorrow," Santana says. She seems shy too, and Brittany's glad she isn't being the cruel Santana she saw in prison.

"Oh, right, sure. I'll show you to the guest room," Brittany says.

Santana seems sad for a second, before pasting on a smile.

"Thanks, Britt"

Brittany thinks it's the perfect end to the day.

…..

She wakes up the next morning to yelling. She slowly gets out of bed and makes her way to the kitchen (she follows the sound of Santana's curses). When she gets there, she finds Puck holding back Santana (who has by now started yelling expletives in Spanish) and Quinn holding a very angry Rachel. Rachel has coffee stains on her previously clean white costume and Brittany's pretty sure Santana is the cause. When the group sees Brittany in the doorway, Rachel stops writhing in Quinn's grasp and stomps over to her.

"Brittany, do you see what she did?" Rachel yells, madly pointing to the stains on her shirt. "She spit this on me! I was supposed to be fighting criminals and hoodlums this morning but no, now I'll have to dry-clean spit and coffee off my costume!"

"It's not my fault the coffee tastes like piss," Santana says, charging once again in Rachel's direction.  
Brittany makes her way over to Santana and calmly asks her to apologize (she knows she won't, but what the hell?). She isn't surprised when Santana gives Rachel the middle finger and stomps angrily out of the kitchen muttering "puta" under her breath. It's only 8:30 in the morning (frankly, Brittany is wondering what Santana is even doing up this early) and already the day is promising to be quite eventful.

A little later in the day, Brittany calls a team meeting. Santana and The Order of Angels sit around the living room, Santana making faces behind Rachel's back as Puck tries desperately not to laugh (he seems to have forgiven her for the shaved mohawk).

"Alright guys, since everyone's had a little time to cool off, I think now would be a good time to talk about everything," Brittany starts. She knows that nobody (save Puck) has actually cooled off (in fact the stress in the room is almost unbearable) but she supposes it's now or never (she wishes she could pick never).

"Brittany, if I may?" Rachel interjects. Santana sighs and slumps into her chair like a petulant child being reprimanded for having eaten all the Halloween candy. "I would first like to address the elephant in the room,"  
"Wow Rachel, Quinn's literally right there. You are so rude," Santana says, trying to cover a smile.

Quinn looks like she's about to burst into tears from sheer frustration and Artie is cautiously looking around the room, hoping that someone will save him from Rachel's death stare (he accidentally snickered). Rachel attempts to ignore Santana (which Brittany knows will only incur more of her wrath) and continues.

"Santana, you have been here for less than a day and have already made two of us cry," Rachel says pointing at Quinn and herself (Brittany thinks the number is closer to four as she watches Puck unconsciously stroking his bald spot and Kurt suddenly wearing an out of character sweater). "Although your presence can be described as toxic, I have a few ideas as to how we can improve all of our living situations," Rachel says.

"Oh God, please let it be role-playing," Santana says sarcastically.

"While role-playing is indeed a valuable tool," Rachel says, completely oblivious to Santana's cynicism, "I believe we are far past that. I have created a list of rules, which we must all abide by. Listen carefully Santana," Rachel says (Santana merely roles her eyes). "Rule number one: Santana must accompany me on all grocery trips, so as to avoid any arguments about food. Rule number two: no powers are allowed within the confines of Angel Cove. Rule number three,"  
"Alright, I'm gonna stop you right there Berry," Santana interrupts. "This is a terrible idea. All of your ideas are absolutely terrible. I'm serious, I've heard better ideas on midnight infomercials. And that's saying something, last night they were selling Handerpants,"

"What on earth are Handerpants?" Kurt asks.

"Underwear for your hands. I'm not even joking, that's a real fucking thing, look it up! It's number three on the list of completely useless things, right above Khloe Kardashian and a big ass picture of Rachel."

Rachel is beginning to lose her cool, so Brittany steps in.

"Okay, why don't we just get on with the reason I called this meeting," she says. "You all know why Santana is here,"  
"Um, not really. Unless you invited her here to make everybody completely miserable," Quinn says, sneering at Santana (Santana flips her the finger).

"Look, I know everything's a little tense right now, but I'm sure it will all get better soon," Brittany lies. "We're all just going to have to learn to get along. I mean if Russia could forgive that guy from the Beatles, I'm pretty sure we'll be okay,"  
"Lenin?" Kurt asks credulously

"That's what I said. Anyways, Santana is here because there is no one on earth who knows more about The Watchers than she does. I made a deal with Tina; if Santana helps us solve the murders, The Watchers will let her go," Brittany says.

"But if The Watchers are behind this, then why would they even agree to all of this?" Artie asks.

"Because they don't really have a choice. If they were to say no, it would look awfully suspicious, don't you think?" Brittany says. "So, as long as Santana is constantly with at least one member of The Order and continues to follow the law, she can help us find out who is behind everything."

The Order reluctantly agrees (Brittany thinks it's at least a start).

…..

Brittany is sitting at her computer reluctantly reading her e-mails (that damn video really has increased her unease around computers) when there's a knock at the door. Santana hesitantly pokes her head in when Brittany asks who's there.

"Are you decent?" Santana asks, her hand covering her eyes (barely).

"Yea," Brittany laughs, beckoning her inside.

"Damn," Santana says, smiling.

Santana takes a couple of minutes to look around Brittany's room. She carefully fingers all of the pictures lined up above the fireplace (Brittany thinks she sees her pause in front of an old picture of them) and quietly makes her way around the room. She finally sits down on the end of Brittany's bed (Brittany wants desperately to sit beside her, but the last thing she wants is to spook Santana). Santana seems like she's debating whether or not to say something, so Brittany tries to lighten the mood.

"I'm pretty much ready to chuck this computer out the window," she laughs (she's rewarded with her favorite smile).

"Yea, I'm shocked you even have one. I tried to teach you how to use it for years," Santana says shyly.

"I know, I remember," Brittany says (she doesn't say all of the other wonderful things she remembers).

"Anyway, I uh, I wanted to thank you," Santana all but whispers.

"For what?" Brittany asks.

"For getting me out of that place." Santana looks tired and sad and Brittany wishes it were six years ago (she would be allowed to hug her _then_).

"Yea well, I guess I owed you. You _did _save me," Brittany says

"When did I save you?"

"The moment I met you." Brittany answers (she's never said anything truer in her life).

* * *

**A/N - You can follow me on tumblr if you'd like. I'll be posting all of the character's stats and powers, so if you're interested, check it out.**


	5. Interviews and Loneliness

**Chapter 4 – Interviews and Loneliness**

One of the many downsides of being the most famous person on the planet is most definitely the severe lack of a private life she has (although she does get free Netflix and knows Beyoncé personally, so she can't really complain). In the last month alone, she has been temporarily blinded by camera flashes getting out of her car, tripped over her shoelaces in front of a hundred paparazzi on her way to Whole Foods to buy 80 pounds of cat food and, most recently, been romantically linked to Ryan Gosling after they were spotted having dinner together at Chateau Marmont (she doesn't tell anyone that she was there helping him rid his house of a psychotic poltergeist).

She's currently seated in front of Unique Adams, writer extraordinaire for Superhero Weekly, who has a penchant for asking wildly inappropriate questions while simultaneously being fabulous and somehow respectful. Much to the general publics dismay, Brittany hasn't done an interview in a little over 2 years. She's still unsure how Unique managed to rope her into this one, considering she's never been a great liar and is currently harboring the world's second most famous person on the planet in the world's third most secret hideout (beat out only by Area 51 and the magic cupboard to Narnia [whose location Brittany promised Mr. Tumnus she would never reveal]).

"So, do you mind if we start?" Unique asks with a dramatic flourish of her wrist.

Brittany doesn't want to start. In fact, what she would like most in the world right now is to go back to Angel Cove (and make sure that Santana hasn't killed Rachel by poisoning her vegan hot dogs like she promised the previous night).

"I'd love that," she says instead.

Unique smiles and pulls out her tape recorder, obviously quite excited to start the interview that will no doubt change her career.

"Brittany…I'm sorry, I can call you Brittany right? Would you prefer The White Angel?" Unique asks.

"My friends all call me Brittany. So the White Angel it is," Brittany deadpans.

Unique looks taken aback, clearly unfamiliar with Brittany's sense of humor. Brittany thinks it's probably not a great start to the interview.

"Of course you can call me Brittany, Unique. It _is_ my name. At least it is right now," she says smiling.

Unique laughs awkwardly and moves on.

"It's been almost five years since you took the mask off. What made you decide to reveal your true identity to the world?" she asks, writing furiously in a small pink notebook (Brittany finds it unsettling that she has already managed to fill an entire page).

"Right to the big questions then," Brittany laughs (quite unnaturally she thinks, but Unique doesn't seem to catch on) "Well, as The White Angel, I often preached about being true and proud of who, or what, you are. I figured I was being hypothetical when I was hiding behind a mask," she says, shrugging and taking a small sip of water.  
Unique continues on, brushing aside the blatant misuse of the word hypothetical.

"How do you respond to the rumors that you actually took the mask off because of threats you received from the villainous female trio, The Dark Ladies?" Unique asks. She's clearly intrigued now, as she's finally set her pen down to look Brittany in the eye.

"I'm sorry, I don't know anything about those rumors," Brittany responds casually.

She is, of course, very familiar with said rumors.

"Well, rumor has it that The Dark Ladies forced your hand in the matter. The word on the street is that Mimic in particular was holding your then sidekick, Femme Fatale, hostage. In exchange for Femme Fatale, you were forced to reveal your identity. "

Brittany smiles cordially and crosses her legs.

"The stories people come up with these days are crazy. I've also heard that the mayor eats Cheetos in his underwear while watching Project Runway and crying. You can't believe everything you hear," Brittany says.

Unique laughs, but seems undeterred from obtaining the truth.

"So there is no truth to these rumors?"

"No. They're rumors for a reason. Look, can I be completely honest with you?" Brittany asks, leaning forward slightly as if to reveal a secret.

"Please."

"I wish there was a more interesting story as to why I revealed myself. But there isn't. The real truth of the matter is that I felt like I was keeping a part of myself hidden from everyone. With the amount of trust the public puts in me, I thought it was unfair of me to ask them to have faith in someone they didn't really know. That's all there is to it," she finishes, leaning back in her chair. She feels sad and guilty for having lied, but some things are better kept secret (and this is definitely one of those things). She knows it's not right, and that the people of the world deserve to know the truth, but it's not her secret to tell (and she would sooner die than reveal Santana's secret).

Unique seems disappointed in her answer and frankly Brittany doesn't really blame her. Her answer is textbook. Almost every active super hero on the planet has used the exact same reason as to why they revealed themselves. Very few heroes remain whose identity is still a secret. Brittany knows that for most of them, they took off the mask for fame. Celebrity is, for some, a seductive mistress. Rachel, Puck and Quinn are prime examples of that. Unfortunately for them, they've learned that fame is often a literal version of Pandora's box (filled with greed, envy and self-doubt). While her reasons may have been slightly more honorable, she still has to wear spanx to movie premiers, so really, everyone's a loser.

Unique has once again started writing, which Brittany thinks is useless considering her every answer is being recorded but whatever, she's no reporter.

"Many would argue that your greatest accomplishment was having Mimic put behind bars three years ago. Would you agree?" Unique asks, briefly looking up from her notebook.

"No, I'd say my greatest accomplishment is having finished an entire 18'' pizza by myself in a little under a minute. That or convincing my cat to bathe regularly."

"Your cat…to bathe?" Unique asks. She clearly doesn't like where this interview is going, but Brittany thinks that's what she gets for coaxing her into this.

"Ya. Have you ever tried to force a forty-pound tabby into a bucket of soapy water wearing nothing but a bathing suit?" Brittany asks seriously.

"I can't say that I have."

"Well I can tell you that it is a special kind of hell that I wouldn't wish on my greatest of enemies. My bathing suit was in pieces. Santana was sewing it for months," Brittany laughs, remembering poor Santana, with her needle and thread, desperately trying to sew the bunny patterned bathing suit back together.

"Santana?" Unique asks curiously.

Well shit.

…

Quinn is almost ready to jump into a pit of venomous cobras (no exaggeration). She thinks suicide would certainly be better than costume shopping with Rachel and Santana. There are exactly three people on the planet whose presence could make Quinn voluntarily stick needles into her eyes: Paris Hilton and, of course, her present company. She'd rather lick the bottom of Puck's feet after a night of barefoot dumpster diving then watch Rachel pick out hideous outfit after hideous outfit while Santana spews expletives at them. Not only is she miserable, she's downright mortified by Santana's choice of clothes. For the most recognizable super-villain on the planet (who, by all accounts, is supposed to still be in prison), she's certainly not making any effort to cover up her identity (or anything for that matter). Quinn has a reputation to uphold. She's not called Saint for nothing. If she were to be photographed with Santana wearing what she is, she'd be ridiculed by everyone. Of course then Santana would also be outed, which granted is probably not a good thing either, but her reputation is definitely more important than some ridiculous scheme Brittany concocted in a daze of dim-witted optimism. The whole idea of Santana helping The Order is undeniably the most foolish thing Brittany has ever thought up (which is saying something considering she once put $500,000 into an Ostrich breeding facility).

"What do you think of this one?" Rachel asks, holding up a repulsive brown onesie emblazoned with tiny orange music notes.

"I'd rather smear myself with gasoline and light myself on fire then wear that revolting puke colored monstrosity," Santana says, adding a few fake gags for good measure.

"Santana, you need a costume! How are you supposed to come on top secret crime fighting missions without one?" Rachel all but screams.

"This is so stupid. Why can't I wear my own clothes?"  
Quinn rolls her eyes and slumps further into the changing room sofa, willing herself to simply melt into the fabric and disappear from earth forever.

"Because Santana, you look like a prostitute. I have actually seen prostitutes wearing your exact outfit. I swear, those shorts are so short every time you bend over, I feel like I should be throwing dollar bills at you," Rachel says, madly pointing to the barely there material of Santana's shorts.

"Ew, stop staring at my junk Berry. That is so creepy," Santana says, fingering a black leather suit.

"Santana, just pick an outfit. ANY outfit! Please," Quinn begs. "Look, that one's pretty. I caught you looking at it an hour ago," she adds, pointing to dark blue one from her perch on the couch.

"Please Quinn, it has a cape. Haven't you seen The Invincibles. God, you'd love it if I got sucked into an airplane engine, wouldn't you?" Santana snaps.

Before Quinn can fire back an insult, Rachel steps between them.

"Santana that is the most ridiculous thing you've said all day. You can't fly. How would you get your cape stuck in an airplane engine?" Rachel asks, both hands on her hips.

"That's easy. I'd be escorting you, by plane, back to Israel, I know a guy there that sells awesome Challah. Fifteen minutes into the flight, I would leap from the airplanes emergency exit to escape your incessant talking and, voila. Cape, engine, Chunks Lopez," Santana says with a sneer.

Rachel huffs and storms out of the room, beckoning Quinn to follow her. Quinn is actually surprised it has taken nearly two hours for such an exit. She's still unsure how she got stuck with Santana in the first place. Puck, Artie and Kurt had left this morning for Vegas, claiming a blackjack dealer from Caesar's Palace had tipped them off about an illegal gambling deal. She knows it's complete bull though. What they really were doing was escaping Angel Cove after Santana had "accidentally" scratched Puck's BMW, "accidentally" slashed one of Artie's wheelchair wheels and "accidentally" mixed pink dye into Kurt's shampoo. God only knows where Brittany is.

Quinn allows a couple more minutes to pass before following Rachel out, wanting her to stew in impatience for as long as possible. On her way, she can clearly see Santana making a whipping motion and laughing. Yes, venomous cobras would definitely be better than this.

…..

Quinn and Rachel are gone (no doubt cursing her name and sacrificing vegan dairy cows to have her sent back to prison) and for the first time in two weeks, she's alone. Completely, one hundred percent, alone. Sure she was given a room at Angel Cove, but she was forced to share it with Puck after he broke the toilet and flooded his own room. And now, here she is, with no one but her own company and she inexplicably wishes to be back in Rachel and Quinn's company. Staring at the full-length mirror in front of her, all she sees is an angry scared little girl who can't face the horror of being by herself. She resists the urge to run out of the changing room and berate Rachel about another costume choice or, more dangerously, call Brittany (she especially resists that urge).

Instead, she cries. She cries hard.

She slowly removes her top, dabbing at her eyes and nose with the material. She eyes the tight white leather costume (it's been six years since she's worn white) and decides she's not ready. She's not ready to squeeze her tiny worn out body into the outfit. She's not ready to leave behind her black and purple one she'd worn since the day she said goodbye to being good. She wraps her arms around herself and tells herself to be strong. To be moral and noble and worthy. To put her miserable past behind her. But she knows she's not strong. She's weak, unbearably weak, and always will be.

She remembers back to the Watchers prison. She remembers the small 6x4 room they'd put her in. For three years. 22 hours a day. She can still hear the other inmates screaming, begging the guards to kill them. She can still feel the hard blows she received from some of the more violently inclined guards, guards who were there to protect her. She can feel their breath on her neck as they whispered how worthless she was. How she would never amount to anything. How in six months, nobody would remember her name. She remembers it all and now, more than ever, she wishes she could forget.

She holds herself tighter. She can still feel the deep scar on her back from having been burned by one of the other inmates. She trails her hand up her body and, with the index finger of her left hand, feels a small outline of a scar on her right shoulder. She turns around, looking back into the mirror and, with a heavy heart, realizes what it is. Brittany's palm print, as white as the day she burned off her tattoo. She strokes the pale skin and smiles.

She puts the white suit on…

* * *

A/N - Im incredibly sorry for the long wait. I have a lot of reasons, none of which you're probably interested in. One of them being that I had all but given up on glee after Brittany and Santana were so poorly treated. But this story kept gnawing at me, and I just had to start writing it again. I can't promise quick updates in the future, but I hope you stick with it. This is also unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own (and i'm sorry if there are a lot). If anyone is interesting in betaing for me, send me a pm! I need someone who is not afraid to hound me for updates lol.


	6. Shelved for good

This story is PERMANENTELY shelved. After recent developments and spoilers I've lost faith and interest in Brittana. Sorry guys.


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